The musings of a traveling man

Bulletproof

I am a follower of Christ. Jesus provided me with very straightforward instructions when it comes to my relationship with others. He wants me to love. Everyone. He asks me to love even those who don’t love me back. It’s not always easy. Still, I don’t think you have to be a Christian to understand that love is better than hate.

And yet…

Every day, it seems, I read where hate can claim another victory. Death leads to debate. Some are convinced more guns will end the violence. Others insist on new laws that further restrict our ability to obtain weapons. In between, there is a giant void that we fill with mean-spirited dissent. Disrespect. Insults. Our opinions come loaded with gunpowder and a fuse.

An article with President Obama’s reaction to the recent mass killings in California included a comment section.

“I hate that man,” wrote one who disagreed with the president’s stance.

How can we expect others to love us when we can’t even love and respect each other?

It’s no longer just acceptable to hate. It’s become chic. It’s now vogue to express your rancor in a pithy 140 characters and a biting hashtag. In my grandmother’s day, you didn’t talk about someone unless you had something nice to say. Nowadays, you need to whittle your insults into an original sharp jab or it’s just not worth the space on Facebook.

Our issues don’t end with guns. We can eliminate every Ruger, Remington, Magnum, Kalashnikov, and Daisy Red Rider under the sun. If the hate lives on, we’ve still got a major problem. You load a gun with bullets. Hate pulls the trigger.

Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.

Jesus said it. In days like this, it’s hard to comprehend. Not only did the guy in the Humvee cut me off, he extended an extra long finger when I tapped the horn. Love him? There’s no asterisk in the Bible that provides an exception for the neighbor with political views that aren’t in line with mine. I mean, he’s always insisting he’s right, and there’s no question that I’m right. It gets even more complicated when we’re talking about organizations with plastic explosives and master plans. Love your enemy. Jesus said it. Not me.

It sure is a lot easier to hate.

It can be so comfortable. You slip into it like a nice warm sweat suit. Your neighbors are doing it. So are the people in the next town, and the next.

Someone has got to be brave enough to go against the grain.

Oh, how Pollyanna of you, Jerry. So, you’re going to bring down ISIS with a hug? Well, not exactly. I don’t have the power to eliminate that kind of white hot hate.

But I can respect my neighbor even when we disagree. I can get to know someone who might be perfectly kind and loving, rather than make judgments from afar based on their skin color or their last name. I can acknowledge that my upbringing and experiences help mold my outlook, and that a neighbor with different experiences is going to have a different view of life. It doesn’t make them a bad person. It makes them different, yet still lovable.

I’m not focused on gun control. My focus is on hate control, and I’m starting with me. Every time I wave a fist at a bad driver, it does damage. Every snarky remark, every haughty political declaration, every time I refuse to offer the forgiveness and understanding that could turn an enemy into a friend, I help spread the hurt. Every act of hate adds more fertilizer to what is already a bumper crop of wickedness.

Wouldn’t it be great if the world were filled with guns, and no one wanted to use them? What if they just sat there, gathering dust?

Yes, it’s a Pollyanna view that I have. Such a pipe dream. So unrealistic. You probably disagree and believe me to be a complete fool.